Girl
by naqaashi
Summary: The Lord of all the Noblesse was renowned for an unusual approach towards life. Naturally, along came the day when it led to the creation of another such life. The question was - who'd care for it when he was no longer in a position to? RAIxOC
1. Girl: 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: This story has been sitting in my head for quite a while now, though it was a great deal more melodramatic in its early stages. After much hashing and thrashing and beating around the bush, I've finally been motivated to write it down decently and present it for your reading pleasure. **

**As a note of warning, the chapters will vary in length, and they will probably not be very long. My beta and I have done our best to ensure that m heroine doesn't turn into a Mary-Sue, and that the essence of Noblesse is preserved in this story – we're well aware we're messing with **_**Rai**_**, you see!**__**^_~ At the end of the day, all that I want is to write a sweet, simple – and funny, I hope – Noblesse love story, and I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Also, many thanks to my beta, Smortz! **

_**Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names**_

All such tales begin with a dark and stormy night. Or at least, they ought to, Gejutel K. Landeger, the honoured old warhorse of the Landeger clan, reflected, when a sticky little fist managed to get a good hold on his beard and tugged. _Hard._

He winced at the indignity. His own son had never been this…rambunctious. But then again – he puffed out his chest just a little – his own son had been a pure-blooded noble baby. He glared down at the giggling bundle of stickiness and moodiness in his arms, hoping to instill some sense of decorum into it, if only by fear of his big, beetling brows and red, red staring eyes.

_Tug. Pull. Giggle. Smack._

No such luck.

"Fine," he muttered, and promptly stalked off to find the baby's father – and bumped smack into the Lord, ruler of all the Nobles.

At any other time, the sight of the Lord, sprawled on the floor of the royal palace in a halo of robes and silky blonde hair, would have given Gejutel a serious case of the flusters and blushes and incoherent excuses. On this particular occasion however, his dignity had already been injured so much by the tiny half-human baby in his arms that he simply shrugged off the additional blow to his ego, deposited the baby in her father's arms and left them both there, blinking owlishly at his stiff, retreating back.

The Lord sighed and looked down at the now-silent baby in his arms. She was preoccupied with his hair, tangling her fingers in the long strands with strangely detached concentration. He grinned at her and jostled her a bit. "Hey, hey, now little one! Look at Papa…look, lookity look?"

She ignored him. Pretty hair obviously being of more importance than pretty Papas.

His face fell a little, but he wasn't going to give up that easily, not when the prize was a blinding, toothless smile from his little daughter. Cuddles and tickles and rock-a-bye cradles proved fruitless, so in desperation, he finally began singing. "Brutislava, Brutislava, my precious little flowah! The prettiest rose in Papa's garden; smile for me, you little widgeon!" he trilled, hitting the highest and lowest notes possible without completely losing the tune.

Silence descended around them the second he closed his mouth. Even Gejutel had stopped, fascinated by the terrible performance. Suspense hovered in the air.

Would little Brutislava turn her head and finally grace her Papa with a beloved smile?

Both Nobles' eyes remained fixed on the baby. Slowly, as if feeling the weight of their gazes, she turned her head, the tussled brown curls gleaming in the sunshine.

And gave her father a most disgusted look before crawling off into the shrubbery in pursuit of a passing butterfly.

Gejutel desperately wanted to laugh.

The rejected father, on the other hand, was slouched on the floor in an attitude of utter gloom. Long, burnished golden locks fells over his forehead, covering his eyes. The ends curled around his fingers as he plucked disconsolately at them. Gejutel debated the wisdom of stopping him – it wouldn't do have the Lord go bald now, would it – but the poor man looked like he might just start crying if someone didn't give him a nice hug and a bowl of warm chicken soup soon.

Hmm. If he was truly a loyal servant of the Lord, as he claimed to be, it should be his bounden duty to provide the morose ruler with just that. Gejutel shook off that ghastly thought as soon as it prodded his conscience. Good grief, if he so much as suggested at a bit of comfort and consolation – and good, hearty food – the Lord would probably insist on him carrying it all the way through. In a uniform borrowed from the palace nurse.

Gejutel K. Landeger's dignity, which was a force quite as important as its owner and encompassed his entire clan, shuddered from top to toe at the mental images that his battered, broken, baby-beleaguered brain had just produced.

Yet, underneath all that frosty dignity and elegance, beat a kindly, paternal old heart that had toddled the Lord on its knee when the Lord had been a baby just as perverse as this little daughter of his. Gejutel sighed and gave in to instinct.

"What…?" The Lord peered up at his most trusted advisor when he felt his hand gently patting his shoulder. Gejutel smiled back, remembering his own days as a new father…he hadn't been quite right for the first seventeen months of his son's life. Yet, he had managed to raise the boy into a fine, dignified young Noble, hadn't he? If a mere clan leader could manage the enormous responsibility of moulding a young life, then the Lord would surely be no less!

Though…he stared at the baby frolicking in the garden. _This one might turn out a little too interesting, considering her father's personality. Oh well, we shall see to fixing that when the time comes. For now, there's a young father who needs me rather more than you do, wee one. _

And out came the first of many pieces of parenting advice that Gejutel K. Landeger was to pass on to the Lord of the Nobles, as both men worked to raise the baby that neither had planned for.

"If I may be so presumptuous, Lord, she might like you more if you didn't persist in calling her Brutislava…"

**Do review! Don't you want to tell me what you thought? **


	2. Girl: 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: The second chapter of Girl. In this one, we get an insight into the…circumstances behind her birth. Once again, many thanks to my beta, Smortz! ^_^ **

_**Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names**_

If the Lord had been inclined to talk about _that _night – which he was – he could have told Gejutel K. Landeger that it had indeed been a dark and stormy specimen of nocturne.

Unortunately, though the Lord was willing to gossip to all and sundry, Gejutel was not quite so willing to listen.

Despite Gejutel's selective deafness, the Lord managed to find an eager set of ears in Verdana, his fellow Noble and mother of a delightfully bookish little girl called Rozaria, and this is what he told her –

"She was so _plump._ And juicy! I just wanted to eat her up right there…"

Verdana arched a coquettish brow. "And did you?" she inquired.

"Indeed!"

"Wha-! Right there? In front of….?"

"Not THERE, you daft woman! In the hayloft." The Lord looked quite proud of himself as he made this announcement.

Verdana snorted and twitched little Rozaria's book a few inches further from her nose. The child didn't need glasses that early in life. "Yes, yes, heaven forbid the farmers and potters and ostlers and weavers, plus barkeeper and barmaids get a view of the action and mayhaps pick up a few pointers! A grunt here and a push there and smacky, wet kiss or two and it's all over. Or so my maids tell me."

"Really? Poor things," the Lord shook his head in sympathy, golden locks glittering in the dappled sunshine coming through the windows. "Well, no matter. They could hear plenty, couldn't they? Should be enough to tell them what they're doing wrong – or _not_ doing, as it were."

"Eh…? They could hear everything?" Verdana made her eyes as big as possible in the hope of eliciting more details. Explicit ones. Rozaria snuggled closer to her mother's knee and read on silently, but kept one ear glued to the confabulation happening above her head.

"Well, the hayloft was right above the barroom…"

Both females scowled at the obtuse answer – one openly, and the other from behind the safety of her book. "Lord…," Verdana warned.

He chuckled wickedly and held up his palms in surrender. "All right, all right, don't throw me out! But location _is_ important, you know, for the right sounds to be heard. For example, at certain locations, they no doubt heard constant demands for 'oooooh more suckin', sirrah, oooh – oh-oh-pull 'arder!' At others, they could make out, if they concentrated, a rhythmic _slap_, 'nnngh!', _slap_, 'mmmm!', _slap_, 'faster, faster!', _slap-slap-slap_, 'mmmmh ooooh yeessss oh 'arder, sirrah, an' deeper!', _slap-slap-slap-slap_ – and so on. Now that was an interesting bit of geography! Produced the most interesting noises no matter what you did to it!"

Rozaria was busy scribbling down whatever the Lord was saying verbatim in the margins of her book while still managing to read the story written in it. Fascinating tale about some big, brawny fellow called Ulysses. Her mother, on the other hand, positively wriggled in delight. "Especially if you…treated it as dinner?"

"'mmmmmmm, oh don' you stop, don' ever stop! Mmmm-mm-ah-aaaahhhh-_oh!_ Oh, oh my, I didn' know you could kiss a girl _there…_ohhhh don' stop, _please, sirrah!_ Oh, that feels 'ot, so 'ot and wet, _mmmmm…oh-ohhhh-oh-oh-oh my-ahhhhhhhhhhhh!_'" was the placid narration the Lord put forth to his fascinated audience.

"Oh…my," was all that Verdana was capable of breathing. Little Rozaria, from whose head thoughts of reading had fled entirely, put aside her pencil and stared down at her book in consternation as the silence stretched.

For his part, the Lord had been enjoying the effect his tale had had. Still he didn't like to boast so much, so he attempted to shrug a modest shoulder. "Well, she was quite loud. And verbose."

"I'll say!"

"And of course, the location of the hayloft was most convenient, too."

Verdana nodded mutely, imagining he complete silence that must have dominated the barroom below said hayloft – and the ensuing chaos afterwards. The Lord, in the meantime, snapped his fingers frantically in front of her glassy-eyed face, afraid that he had broken her brain, but finally realised that she was merely overcome and probably incapable of stringing together a coherent sentence just then. Accordingly, he decided his time would be better spent playing with his darling little Brutislava, and took his leave. Little Rozaria left too. It was as good a time as any to look up the meaning of those sounds in the library. Besides, her mother looked like she could do with a few minutes alone…

**Read and review, please! **


	3. Girl: 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: I'm sorry about the long delay between updates – I ran into some confusion with the plot of this story, PLUS ran into HUGE blocks of doubt over my ability to write Rai and the other Noblesse characters accurately, but that's been sorted out now, and I'm hopeful again!**

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><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

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><p>For once, Gejutel K. Landeger did not care that his next actions would forever indemnify his reputation as a member of that most vulgar, inelegant class of person – an eavesdropper.<p>

Not that the old Noble had _intended_ to listen to the Lord's ostensibly private conversation with Verdana…but if they didn't object to corrupting little Rozaria's dubious innocence, they couldn't be too scandalised over an old man tuning in surreptitiously.

They _would_ make him miserable about it, though. Of that he was certain. He could already hear the juvenile digs he would have to endure about his famed dignity.

Gejutel grimaced and decided to charge ahead regardless. Their special guests were due to arrive soon, and the smoke surrounding the matter had to be cleared up, and cleared discreetly beforehand.

One simply _did not_ subject a being such as they were to host to a lengthy and graphic spiel on one's procreative habits. The trouble was, Gejutel couldn't be sure that the Lord was aware of that little point of etiquette, and worse – if he knew of it, was he capable to adhering?

Precisely put, the Lord was just going to have to lie. Their guest would know, of course, and he would mind it dreadfully, no doubt. But to Gejutel K. Landeger, the ignominy of deliberately telling falsehoods to the most revered being in their little society was far outweighed by reciting bawdy taproom tales to his elegant ears.

"If it takes you longer than five minutes to come to a decision about the simplest matters, Gejutel, then you shouldn't bother with them at all, you know," a silky voice floated out of the room which the grand old Noble was hesitating to enter, making him jump in guilty surprise.

"M-my Lord…I was only...and it is _not_ a simple matter!"

"Yes, yes, now come in and let me look at your face – I don't enjoy talking to disembodied voices."

Gejutel obeyed with a beleaguered sigh. "Lord, I beg you-"

The Lord smiled and cut in, "No begging, Gejutel. It does not suit your dignity."

"As it ill-suits yours, Lord, to idle about spreading scandalous gossip to the Nobles without a care for inadvertent listeners," the older Noble retorted, out of patience with the Lord's antics.

The Lord raised his eyebrows enquiringly. "Inadvertent? If you didn't like it, my dear man, you should have simply walked away."

With a stately lowering of his head, Gejutel accepted the mild reproof, but didn't back down. "Verdana-"

"-is more than capable of handling the heat. She enjoys titillation – and she _is _my oldest friend. There are no boundaries between us."

"I am aware, Lord."

"Then I fail to see what your beef is."

"Ro. Za. Ri. A."

The Lord canted his to the side, peering at him through long strands of golden hair. "Huh?"

"Verdana's _daughter_. Rozaria," Gejutel ground out.

The Lord blinked. "What about it? Something happened to her?"

"…"

"_What _is it, Gejutel? Quit glowering and speak, man!"

"…she was in this room while you were busy storytelling."

A long silence followed. Finally, "Oh dear."

"Oh dear, indeed," the Landeger clan leader agreed wholeheartedly.

"Ah well," the Lord shrugged, "it was bound to happen sooner or later – with the genes she has received from her mother, the girl will grow up to be troublesome with or without my contribution."

Gejutel gaped at this casual dismissal of the corruption of a youngster, then reminded himself that there were far more pressing matters to arrange. "Lord – regarding people that should not be told of some things – our guests will be here any moment and they are coming solely to meet the princess."

The Lord brightened at the reminder, a cheery smile replacing his bemusement. "Ah, it is almost time, isn't it? I've been looking forward to this – where's my darling Bruti? Has she been readied? Has daddy's little princess been coiffed and dolled and sweetened to perfection?"

Before the over-exuberant man could strut out of the room in search of his toddler, Gejutel barred the door, muttering an apology for his rudeness. "Forgive me, Lord, but you cannot leave this room until I have your word that you shall _not_, under _any_ circumstances, reveal the nature of your daughter's...conception."

"Eh? But what am I do if he asks? I can't very well lie to him!"

"You…must. On this one occasion, you must lie or decline to give information."

"Oh, get off, Gejutel. He's a young man. He knows how the body works, how nature consumes us. It won't do him any harm to know that my Brutislava is a simple barmaid's daughter. He is many things – but his kind heart has preserved him from being a snob."

_Unlike you_ being the unsaid implication, as Gejutel understood. But the Lord was missing the point, he thought and tried again. "It is not who her mother was that troubles me. She's a delightful creature – when you aren't annoying her with that terrible name you gave her. The point, Lord – the _point_ – is that you sought out a common taproom maid from the village for your own amusement – for pure physical lust, simply because you were curious about humans. You wished to know what it felt like, to bed a wanton human who has none of the restraints of dignity and power as we do, even in our most private moments. You wanted…to be a normal, unremarkable being for a single night."

A tense silence settled between them. The Lord had not admitted his motives to anyone; he had not expected the Nobles to see so clearly into his emotions and personal desires, for as the Lord of all Nobles, he was not _supposed_ to have personal desires.

Everything he did, it was to be for the good of the Nobles.

Except that in this one aberration, this one act of rebellion to seek something he wanted for himself, as a man, as a being with sensation and desire, he had fallen far short of the ideal he was supposed to set.

Raising shamed eyes to his advisor and most trusted official, the Lord immersed himself in a rare moment of humility, to properly withstand his disgrace. "It was selfish of me, Gejutel…I know that. But was it that bad? To want something, just once, for myself? It has given me a daughter…a family to call my own…is that…is it so bad, my old friend?"

The other heaved a heavy, morose sigh. "It's not your desire that was at fault, Lord. We all have things we want. It is not criminal to want. It is to be expected, however, that before we reach to grab hold of our wish, we consider the consequences."

Sharp red eyes narrowed in displeasure. "My daughter is not a 'consequence,' Gejutel K. Landeger."

Gejutel suppressed a shiver of alarm. "Not yet, Lord. But she will be. Her entire life…will be a consequence. And a day will come when you will no longer be around to protect her through it."

"What is that supposed to mean? Brutislava is half-Noble, and she has my blood. She will not be as powerful as full Nobles, but she will never be weak. And this will always be her home."

"Even when you have a wife and child – a legitimate child, Lord?" Gejutel challenged.

"Even then. Bruti and I are a family. Anyone wishing to be my lady, will accept that." He peered closely at the older man. "What worries you? It is the path of a Noble to protect the weak and to protect each other. We are not like human aristocracy, where a new wife schemes in jealousy and contempt over the existence of prior offspring!"

"Your eventual lady may not see a problem – but the eldest child born of such a union, Lord – your second child, the one that must be born of you and another Noble, a full blooded Noble child, and thus the only one of your children fit to wield a soul weapon and carry the burden of your throne. Your _true heir_…might."

The Lord paled by a fraction, and would have argued, but he was cut off by an approaching aura – an aura bound tight and yet shining with the brilliance of the North Star. An aura overwhelming in its potential, soothing in its passivity. The aura of the being that towered above them all – the protector of their race, the one they honoured as being akin to a physical god.

The supreme elegance. The highest of the highest. The kindest and proudest. The perfection of pure power contained in physical form.

Cadis Etrama Di Raizel, the Noblesse, had arrived.

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><p><strong>Read and review, please! <strong>


	4. Girl: 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: I'm sorry about the long delay between updates – I ran into some confusion with the plot of this story, but that's been sorted out now! **

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><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

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><p>Cadis Etrama di Raizel could count on his fingers the number of times he had made this visit. Once for each new Lord that was sworn in to the throne of the Nobles, and once for each of their firstborn children – the future Lord.<p>

In the course of those millennia, his relationship with the Lords and their heirs had been a vague, distant thing. An interaction based on fear and respect, and sometimes suspicion. Eventually, however, they'd all managed to get it through their heads that he was not in the market as a new best friend, or gambling partner, or potential usurper.

That is to say, they eventually just left him to his own devices while they carried on with the rigorous task of maintaining balance over the human world.

Hence the reason the Noblesse was, to put it mildly, in a complete confuddle.

He did not know why, or how, or wherefore, but the current Lord of the Nobles had acquired the idea that he needed a _friend._

Cadis Etrama di Raizel shuddered delicately. Not because he didn't need a friend – heaven knew he got tired of having nothing to do but putter about his mansion and look out of the windows in the hopes that someone, somewhere would give him a friendly wave – but because he genuinely had no idea what one was supposed to _do_ with friends.

He was a miserable conversationalist.

He was terrifyingly bad at all sorts of games.

He couldn't play any musical instrument to save his life, so he thought it was a very good thing indeed that his life would never need to depend on his musical talents.

He liked reading fairy tales and Aesop's Fables, and the occasional sensationalist novel.

He was, in short, utterly awful company, therefore doomed to solitude, and he had trained himself to be fine with it.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel just didn't have the heart to tell the Lord that being dragged out every decade for a five-minute chat that was painfully friendly and awkward just reminded him of his unspeakable loneliness till the Noblesse felt like curling into a ball and whimpering.

But that would be undignified, so he just sucked it up and knocked on the palace doors, wondering what on earth the Lord wanted with him this time.

An opinion on the colour scheme for new curtains?

A new trinket to gather dust in his mansion?

Another offer to move in with the Lord and raise some good old bachelor hell?

Well, whatever it was, the Noblesse reflected, it was unlikely to be out of the realm of things-he-could-handle-with-monosyllabic-replies.

Unfortunately for the poor Noblesse, plump little half-human toddlers were not listed anywhere under things-he-could-handle-with-any-equanimity. So when the massive doors opened and a squealing bundle of cuddly stickiness was thrust into his arms, he did the only thing he could reasonably be expected to do.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel dropped the Princess of the Nobles on her head.

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><p><strong>Because first meetings are never supposed to go well! Never! XD <strong>

**Review, please?**


	5. Girl: 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: For those who wonder why I refer to Rai either as "Cadis Etrama di Raizel," or "the Noblesse," my reasons are simple. At the very beginning of Noblesse, Rai had stated that his name was his full name - first being last and last being first and that it did not matter how you spoke it. In all the flashback chapters, we've seen that this is how all the Nobles address him. They either call him by his entire name, or they call him by his title, or they call him "he/him" in bold font. XD**

I decided, therefore, that since we are still in Noble society, Rai will be addressed formally. At least, for a while.

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><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

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><p>"So, what do you think?" the Lord beamed at Cadis Etrama di Raizel and asked.<p>

The baby – Brutislava, was what the Lord had named the poor creature – gurgled at the Noblesse quite happily, despite the fact that he had nearly given her brain damage a few minutes earlier. Nearly, thanks to Gejutel's timely catch.

He was now watching the toddler with a soft, grandfatherly expression. It surprised the Noblesse; he was much more used to seeing the Noble being dignified, spouting odes to dignity, or trying to recover his dignity.

The Lord was waiting patiently for his assessment of the young Princess. The Noblesse gave her a careful once-over, feeling far more kindly towards her when she wasn't trying to upset his equilibrium. Her father was quite enough of a handful, thank-you-very-much; he could simply hope that against all odds, the man had not passed on his strange personality to his daughter. He didn't think he could tolerate a second set of millennia trying to fend off a well-meaning Lord's advances of friendship.

If that happened, if this girl grew up to be a copy of her father, Cadis Etrama di Raizel decided that he would have to leave his dignity in neat folds on his bed, and flee the land. But that could be seen to later. At the moment, the child did not appear alarming at all.

"I am sure you will train her to be a great Lord," the Noblesse intoned, wondering how soon he could leave.

He gave the toddler a polite nod, turned to give the Lord the same – and stopped dead. Deader than he had ever been – and he was a person who existed in such stasis as to almost _be_ dead.

The Lord had not gone precisely white-faced, but his lips were thin and his eyes clouded over with worry. It took the Noblesse a while to figure out that the Lord was struggling to speak. He sent Gejutel a look of shielded alarm – what was wrong?

The old Noble's head was bowed, in remorse and shame.

Now the Noblesse began to worry in earnest. Surely he hadn't said anything so awful? Heaven knew, he wasn't a talker, but surely, surely…?

"Lord?" he inquired.

The blonde-haired man gave a sharp bark of laughter and ran his hand over his head. His other hand curved tighter about his child, protective. Finally, he said, "I am afraid, Cadis Etrama di Raizel…Brutislava will not be Lord when she grows up."

Such a simply spoken sentence, to shake his world so.

"Not…the Lord?" Cadis Etrama di Raizel had been startled into verbosity.

"Can't you sense it, Cadis Etrama di Raizel? Her blood?"

Up till now, the Noblesse had not bothered to, assuming that she would be strong and pure, like her father. He focused on the child as directed. Certainly there was some strength and purity. There were also, in various distressing degrees, pique, greed, selfishness, spontaneity, rapture, temper…

And lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of unadulterated curiosity.

The Noblesse closed his eyes in dismay. "What have you done?" Gejutel flinched – he had never heard anger in the Noblesse's smooth, clear voice before. The Lord was far too miserable to care that he was going to be chewed out by someone who could very likely destroy him in a sizzle of blood, if he chose.

"Explain yourself," the Noblesse ordered in the same polite, hard tone.

"I wondered what it would be like to live in the moment. I tried it – I found that I wanted a human woman."

Cadis Etrama di Raizel stared in disbelief.

The Lord noted the rare show of expression, and put it aside bitterly. How many years had he been trying to break through this man's reserve? He had finally done it – and done it at the cost of losing his respect forever. "I tried human folly," he said.

A pall fell between them. The toddler seemed to pick up on the tension, peering at her father with large, dark red eyes, her fingers clutching his forelocks tightly. He petted her, quelling her fear with his touch. Eventually, she relaxed and curled against him, quietly sucking on her thumb. The other two men watched the little byplay in silence; Gejutel was still apprehensive but the Noblesse had calmed.

"You care for your child." It was a slightly surprised statement.

"_She's my baby_, you - ! Of course I love her!" The Lord was glaring at the Noblesse.

Gejutel was very, very thankful that the Lord hadn't actually come out and called the Noblesse a fool. Not that he blamed the man for losing his temper; anyone would be angry if someone found it surprising that they loved their children. Indeed, Gejutel K. Landegre would have _flattened_ anyone who dared to say such a thing to him. As long as they weren't the Noblesse, whose exalted dignity would have demanded that he give a polite and firm answer – and _not_ call him any suicidal names. That dubious privilege was reserved for the Lord and the Lord alone, and only _this_ Lord. The Landegre clan leader was quite sure that no one else had ever spoken to the Noblesse in this manner.

Even if he was asking for it.

Against his better judgement, Gejutel K. Landegre silently applauded the Lord's foolhardiness.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel heaved a sigh, aware that he had been abominably rude. He hadn't meant to cause an upset, truly, but he was too used to seeing humanity as something to be protected and sheltered with all the Noble might. Individual humans themselves had never been brought to his attention; so thinking of one in the immediate as a person – that is, someone to love, talk to, play with – didn't come easily to him.

He felt a sudden flush of embarrassment. "I apologise for the offense."

The Lord waved it off with a gentle smile. The Noblesse saw pity hidden beneath and he did not like it. He didn't want to be pitied to his face. "Well, then."

He bowed again and began walking towards the massive doors at the other end of the hall.

The Lord's voice halted his feet when he was halfway there. "Cadis Etrama di Raizel, you must visit my daughter again."

There was a question somewhere in there. The Noblesse considered that, nodded in assent, and let himself out as quietly as he had come.

When the doors closed behind him, the two Nobles slumped in exhausted relief.

"That went well…"

Gejutel did not disagree.

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><p><strong>Trust Rai to insult babies without meaning to. _ <strong>

**Please review!  
><strong>


	6. Girl: 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: The awesomesauce** lyrainthedark** prompted me for this chapter: 'Sequacious – slavishly unthinking and uncritical.'**

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><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

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><p>Many decades passed before Cadis Etrama di Raizel finished understanding and cataloguing the numerous ways and degrees in which he had been insufferably rude on the day he had first met Princess Brutislava.<p>

The exercise, though time-consuming, prompted him to make out a list of all his social misdemeanours. The compilation of it kept him employed for the next few centuries, during which his obsession with the project caused him to bar his doors unconditionally to the rest of Noble society. In this, he was simply acting on self-preservation, because he knew that if he didn't lock himself away in complete solitude while making the list, he would end up never finishing it at all. Mostly because he would be unable to stop himself from adding to it in droves after each visit from some punctilious clan leader or other.

Or heaven forbid, the Lord, and the Noblesse would have rather camped under his bed for the rest of eternity than face the Lord again after the things he had implied about the Princess. Of course, the Lord would likely be kind and wave it off and invite him over for tea the very next weekend, and every other weekend after that, but still! It was the principle of the thing. Cadis Etrama di Raizel, in his capacity as Noblesse, had judged himself unfit for company, and he was not a man who would ever dream of disobeying the authority of the Noblesse.

Still, after close to four centuries of keeping his windows closed to make himself unavailable to even the wild beasts and summer birds, he was ready to admit that he was being extremely foolish about this entire enterprise. True, the Lord had things well under control and he hadn't found it necessary to venture out and give judgment on anyone for almost a millennium, but Cadis Etrama di Raizel felt guilty about not keeping a closer eye on things.

And about refusing every dinner invitation and breakfast invitation and lunch invitation and oh-for-the-love-of-just-show-me-your-face-so-that-I-know-you're-alive-and-we-aren't-out-of-a-Noblesse invitation that the Lord had sent him in all these years.

Come to think of it, perhaps he had better append all those refusals to his list too…

The end result, when he unrolled it, was staggeringly long.

Accordingly, Cadis Etrama di Raizel reflected for a few weeks and made a second admission to himself.

"It appears that I need help."

So he tucked the list under his arm, let his eyes flash ominously red, and was knocking on the doors of the palace hall the very next moment. When they opened, he barged right into the hall with his customary oblivious grace. It didn't matter if the Lord was already holding an audience; they would clear out for the Noblesse. It was one of the few privileges of his rank that Cadis Etrama di Raizel had no qualms about exploiting.

On this occasion, however, the Noblesse miscalculated badly. In his haste to reach the Lord, he managed to ignore the little doorkeeper so thoroughly that he didn't realise she was there till he had bowled her over and taken a good five steps past her. Awareness came to him when the Lord made a panicked dash towards him – he prepared to sidestep in case the man was thinking about enfolding him in a bear hug or some such atrocity – but the Lord barely gave him a "Hello!" before charging past and dropping to the floor in a flutter of blonde hair and coattails.

The Noblesse looked back, stifled a groan of despair, added "Ran roughshod over what appears to be the Princess" to his everlasting list, and joined the Lord in tending to little Brutislava. She had grown significantly since their last meeting and appeared to be nine or ten in human years. A prettily formed girl, she looked Noble in her colouring – smooth brown hair that fell straight from her head, much like her father's and dark red eyes. Her human heritage was visible less plainly; it was there in the softness of her face, the puppy fat she carried, and in her _expressiveness_.

Her behaviour was close to that of pureblood children. She did not cry or raise a fuss, but where a Noble child would have fled in terror at the pulse of the Noblesse's aura, this one went round-eyed and reached for him with charming curiosity to weave her fingers in his floating, silky midnight hair.

"You're so pretty, mister!" she exclaimed, because clearly, to a half-human Noble, pretty things were far more important than skinned knees. Even if the aforementioned pretty thing had been the cause of her bruises in the first place.

"How come you're so pretty? Even Papa isn't this pretty!" the girl demanded, with all the imperious audacity of royalty.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel winced and looked to the Lord for help. The man – bless his mighty soul – took the hint.

"Now, now, Brutislava…is this how you greet new friends?"

"He knocked me over. He has to say sorry before he thinks about being _friends!_" the child pointed out to her father, not unreasonably. The Lord didn't see it that way, however. He was just thankful that Gejutel wasn't here to witness this debacle – the poor Noble would have gone into eternal sleep then and there at the shame.

"Oh, dear…Bruti…this is, that is to say…"

"I apologise, Princess," the Noblesse cut into the middle of the Lord's floundering. His magic worked – the magic of his smooth, soft voice and sincere tone loosened the child's shoulders and she rewarded him with a sunny smile.

"I'm Brutislava – it's a perfectly horrible name, of course, but Papa likes it so I put up with it, else he pretends to cry and raise a fuss about me not loving him. It's not true, you know. Papa's my most favourite person in the whole wide world, except when he's being a fusspot. That's when I run away to Uncle Tel. He's always nicely frowny and gives me tea cakes and makes Papa behave…and it's very nice to meet you, mister! What's your name?"

The Noblesse stared at her, aware of a faint sense of discomfort in his head. The Lord shook his head at him with a dry smile. "She's a precocious little headache; you might as well tell her what she wants to know."

"Headache…?"

Brutislava frowned in confusion. "Your name's Headache, mister? That's even worse than mine!" She patted his knee in sympathy, not noticing the way he stiffened in surprise.

"My name," the Noblesse announced with dire authority, having decided that this child must be put in her place _at once_, "is Cadis Etrama di Raizel."

Brutislava frowned again, mouthing the words silently. Finally, she gave up with a look of disgust. "What do I call you, mister?"

"You call him Cadis Etrama di Raizel," said the Lord.

"Pfft, that sounds funny if you have to call him that all the time. No one calls me by my full name all the time! It's just silly," she broke off and nibbled on her forefinger, while the Noblesse thought about how glad he was that this incorrigible girl would not be the Lord in this lifetime or any other, and the Lord found himself torn between laughter and horror. "I've decided I'm going to call you Raizel! Isn't that whole worlds easier?"

"Raizel," uttered the blankfaced, stonewalled Noblesse.

"Raizel! It is a pretty name, and you're pretty too!" Brutislava gave her newfound friend a winsome smile, unaware that behind the sequacious front he presented, this lovely young man had a rather critical worldview, where she ranked someplace between Incomprehensible Pest and We Are Not Friends and Never Will Be, Spawn of Our Lord.

The Noblesse looked at her carefully, wondering about the best way to respond – _without _insulting her mortally_ – _but the cheerful face she presented was something that he couldn't bring himself to spoil. She was troublesome, this child…and he would eventually teach her to be ignored by him in the same way he ignored things that upset his nice, stable, empty little world.

But for this moment, Cadis Etrama di Raizel found himself smiling back, so slightly that she didn't catch it. The Lord looked on benevolently, grinning to himself at the sight of the two people dearest to him. He watched, feeling a sudden, ridiculous joy, as they tried to weave their ways around each other, blissfully unaware of what he had planned for them both.

* * *

><p><strong>Second impressions. What do you think of Brutislava so far? Any suggestions for improvement?<strong>


	7. Girl: 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: No prompts...just Rai trying to be adorable. And succeeding.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Softie," the Lord muttered, looking distinctly grumpy.<p>

The Noblesse did not dignify that with a response, mostly because he wasn't sure that the accusation was undeserved. After all, the Lord had been trying to get him to be more social with the other Nobles for well over a millennium – perhaps more – and the Lord had been refused point blank, each and every time. "It's not as though I'm any less appealing than she is!" the Lord continued grumbling, disgruntled that his daughter had managed in fifteen minutes what he had been failing at for a good quarter of his life.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel had to agree with him on that one, though he didn't admit it out loud. If anything, Brutislava was even more troublesome than her father; at least the Lord had never invited him to a doll's tea party. Yet, it had taken just one large-eyed, wobbly-chinned look from the Princess, and the Noblesse had found himself agreeing to devote his Saturday afternoon to her and her alone. Plus dolls.

The ordeal had left him with that faint discomfort in his head again…what had the Lord called it? A headache, was it?

"Hmm."

Cadis Etrama di Raizel decided that he was not fond of headaches. He was especially not fond of headaches that persisted in calling him "Raizel."

And now he had a rather forlorn Lord to soothe back into rollicking good cheer and bad ideas. The Noblesse sighed and decided to get the man talking. It always helped. "I had come to request your aid." Now if that didn't get the Lord's attention, he had no idea what would.

Sure enough, the Lord shot straight up in his throne, as though he had been prodded in the tailbone by lightning. Bright red eyes going wide in unabashed curiosity and worry – the Noblesse found that unsurprising and oddly touching – he asked, "Help? You are asking _me_ for help? Is there something wrong? There must be…good lord, you're dying, aren't you? Is that why you've been living like the king of all hermits these past years? Sit down, for heaven's sake – and where's the bloody doctor? DOC-"

"I am well."

"-tor. Oh. I see. Well, then…ahem. What can I do for you? And sit down anyway, you're giving my heart palpitations."

The Noblesse stifled a sudden burst of amusement and peered around the room pointedly, highlighting its chair-less state.

"Right." The Lord gave a dry smile. "Well, if it's personal matters you're worried about, then this isn't the right place to discuss them anyway. People barging in all day and night, you know. Come, I'll take you to my room. Only Brutislava has the cheek to disturb me there, but I suppose she's entitled to."

Cadis Etrama di Raizel followed obediently, not saying a word nor looking anywhere but the back of the Lord's head as he was led through a maze of corridors dotted with stained-glass windows. They came to a halt in front of an impressively carved set of doors that opened into a wide, high-ceilinged room. It was furnished rather simply – a large, canopied bed, a dresser and wardrobe, low armchairs grouped around the fireplace, tea tables and a few lampshades. The room was dominated by piles and piles of books, most of them human work, strewn across every surface, including the bed. There might have been a dark silk sleeping robe mixed up in there somewhere, though the Noblesse couldn't quite make it out between all the parchment and pillows and extremely large, soft blanket.

The state of the room didn't astonish him one bit – it matched its owner's personality to a T. The sheer lack of ornamentation did. The Lord had always given off an impression of frivolity; one would have expected his room to be cluttered with fripperies, but the only remarkable object apart from the books and blanket was a beautiful crystal and walnut case that housed a collection of bottled ships. The Noblesse advanced towards it, intrigued. There were ships of every description housed within – a Chinese dragon boat, a European voyager, a Viking knarr and faering, a pirate ship with strange yellow beads topping its mast – the details were faintly obscured by dust, but the Noblesse found himself unable to take his eyes off them.

The Lord noticed his interest, and opened a curtain to let more light into the room. The sunlight slanted across the case, and Cadis Etrama di Raizel found himself dazzled. The dust of before was now a mass of golden fairy wings, the wood shone as though it was burnished, the faded sails of the ships glowed with warmth, dappled with the rainbow glitter of light breaking over fine crystal.

"Lovely," he whispered, almost involuntarily.

The Lord beamed with pride. "I think so too."

The Noblesse turned back to the ships, his eyes greedily soaking up the details, only half listening to the Lord's recitation of each model's history. A question was tickling the edges of his brain; it felt uncomfortable and cold. Abruptly, he asked, "Why do you collect these?"

The Lord paused in the middle of an exciting battle in the biography of the original captain of a longboat and shot him a speculative look. "Another of my secret sins, I'm afraid. Just the dream of a voyage, to feel the wind in my hair and take in the smells of a land never before seen. Free of responsibility, free of everything but my own will." When the Noblesse made no indication of disapproval, he continued, "Haven't you ever wanted to be free, Cadis Etrama di Raizel?"

_Free._

Cadis Etrama di Raizel did not know the meaning of the word. He stood motionless and unsure of the right answer.

The Lord was watching him with disturbing quietude. "What would you say," he murmured at last, "if I offered you my throne?"

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><p><strong>This was how it started. At least, this was how it all started in my headcanon. XD What do you think? <strong>


	8. Girl: 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: Several readers have commented on Brutislava's name. Specifically, they've noted how awful it is. *ahem* I was originally going to name her something else...but I couldn't decide on a nice, ancient, upper-class name that wasn't hideously pretty like Serenity, or Roslein, or Hope Murder Faith Cracklady, or Marie Antoinette, or Starry-Violet-Eyes-Petal-Soft-Skin-Hair-of-Raven's-Wing-Come-My-Lady-on-Gossamer-Clouds-That-I-May-Sing-Odes-To-Thy-Beauteous-Perfection-This-Twilight-Evening…**

***ahem***

**You understand?**

**So I asked a few of my writer friends to suggest names. Nice, sensible names that an upper-class girl born in the medieval ages or earlier would have. Nothing too pretty or pure, nothing too Mary-Suey, nothing too elaborate, and nothing too common either. **

**The end result was a choice between Brutislava, Osgifu and the mercifully usable Morgan. **

**Yup, my friends are nutcakes.**

**So why did I stick to Brutislava when I could have just as easily taken Morgan instead? Well, the only decent explanation I've got for that is…my sense of humour decided to be an asshat and made the decision for me. _**

**Therefore, I give you…BRUTISLAVA! **

**I really shouldn't feel so happy with myself, should I?**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I decline."<p>

The Lord waited expectantly, but nothing further issued from the Noblesse's finely sculpted lips.

"You're sure?"

"….I am."

"You could be my heir, you know. You would have to learn the duties, of course, but you would be staying here in the meantime."

"I decline."

"You'd have company, and anything else you liked!"

"_I decline."_

The Lord raised an eyebrow at the dire tone. "You are quite scary when you get angry, you know."

The Noblesse did not deem that worthy of response, though he privately wondered if the Lord was spoiling for a fight. Be as what may, he wasn't going to get it. For all his vagaries and oddities, the Lord was the closest approximation to a friend that the he had. He didn't want to destroy that dynamic at any cost.

"Cadis Etrama di Raizel."

"…"

"Aren't you going to ask me why I want you to take the throne?"

"I have declined it. I have no need to know further."

The Lord gave him an exasperated look. "You're not even going to ask if I've gone mad?"

As a matter of fact, the Noblesse had always believed that this Lord had been _born_ insane, so asking was unnecessary. He was not about to declare that to the Lord's face, however. Or to anyone else.

"Aha! You think I am crazy, don't you! You just don't want to say it because you're afraid of being rude!"

The Noblesse wondered how anyone could look that stunningly cheerful when making such an accusation, but the Lord did. He was practically _glowing._

"Well," he continued, oblivious to the cold stillness of his companion, "don't think that snapping at me is going to deter me. I'll ask you again."

Cadis Etrama di Raizel decided that this conversation was taking extremely distressing turns, and it was high time he left for the gloomy safety of his own mansion. As he turned away, much like the last time he had visited the Lord, he was halted in his tracks.

"Cadis Etrama di Raizel. Don't miss my daughter's tea party just because you're unhappy with me."

The Noblesse would not have dreamed of being so unkind. He felt a little hurt that the Lord would think him so petty. But then, the Lord had seen him upset only twice, and the first time, he had cast a rather horrible aspersion upon the Lord's feelings for his daughter.

The Lord seemed to gauge his thoughts from the faint slumping of his shoulders, because he said, "I know you won't do it out of malice. But you worry me…every time I watch you go back to your house, I worry that you will forget that we exist. It isn't good to be so accustomed to solitude."

From anyone else, the Noblesse would have considered this speech an affront. From this man, he knew that it was a sign of undeserved regard. Yet, despite the guilt that was rising in him, Cadis Etrama di Raizel knew that after this Saturday, he would hole himself up again until he was next summoned.

He couldn't explain why he did it; it was not as though anyone had chained him to the house. His cage was far lovelier and much more personal. It was his own body that was shutting him in with the power it carried. It barred him from being spoken to freely by his peers – he called them peers out of habit, for they were all generations younger than he. The locks on his doors were not made of iron and gold, but of hot, gushing blood that he controlled. Fear of him merged just as easily into awe of him, for every single clan leader that had ever existed. The Lords had usually been exceptions to that rule, or he supposed they had been. He had never acquainted himself well with any of them, barring the customary formalities.

And then _this_ man had taken the throne and decided that he was going to treat it and everything it symbolised like his personal playground. The previous Lords had ruled with stern authority. This Lord liked to be a friend to his people and a benevolent god to the humans under his shield. He fought his battles with humour and a palm outstretched in friendly tolerance.

He was always ready to take hold of anyone who needed him.

He was the exact opposite of what a Lord should be, and just the kind of man the Noblesse _needed_ the Lord to be. Cadis Etrama di Raizel felt a smile flicker over his lips like lightning. It was quite nice to have a Lord like this for once. It was very nice indeed, he thought, to be fretted and fussed over and manipulated into being a participant rather than a distant, judgemental observer.

He didn't like the intrusiveness and meddling, but he did not deny that it felt good to have the possibility of being a person outside of his duties and his power. He wondered if the Lord knew about his own secret desire for an ordinary life as an ordinary man and realised that he probably did. The Lord was extremely perceptive, after all, though the Noblesse couldn't tell from what strange source he obtained his unusual wisdom.

He was a good Lord, Cadis Etrama di Raizel decided, and the world was in capable hands.

"I shall not forget," he murmured with another fleeting smile, and returned home. He hung up his jacket on a rack, changed into a pair of white silk pyjamas, and made a note about the Princess's tea party on his desk, determined to see the visit through.

Feeling quite pleased with the day, the Noblesse then retired to bed, only to wake up in the middle of the night, disoriented and highly upset.

He had forgotten his list in the Lord's bedroom.

* * *

><p><strong>::snickers:: I'm being evil, aren't I, the way I'm embarrassing poor Rai left, right and centre?<strong>


	9. Girl: 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: This chapter was written by a girl who has always been her father's pet. That's all the warning you're getting. XD **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

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><p>"Enter."<p>

Brutislava nudged the doors to her father's bedroom open and peeked inside, strangely hesitant. "Papa?"

The Lord looked up from a long scroll of parchment, surprised at the girl's unusual timidity. He beckoned her closer, and she padded up to his bed on bare feet, allowing herself to be lifted up and deposited neatly by his side. "What's the matter?" he asked, poking her lips to stop her from nibbling on them. "Don't do that, princess. It's a -"

"- bad habit. I know, Papa. But I keep forgetting," she mumbled, nibbling her bottom lip with even more ferocity.

Her father sighed. He knew the signs of nervousness. "Are you worried about the tea party?" he hazarded, then sighed when she gave a swift, birdlike nod in response. Perhaps it had not been such a good idea to promote friendship between the Noblesse and his daughter, but the Lord couldn't bring himself to regret the decision even if it was causing Brutislava sleepless nights. Cadis Etrama di Raizel reminded him of his daughter in countless small ways, or was it that she was a reminder of him? The Lord couldn't quite differentiate; all he knew was that the extreme loneliness that surrounded the Noblesse was the future he foresaw for his own daughter.

It made want to curl up under his blankets and weep for the little girl, who would grow up believing that her almighty father would keep her sheltered all her life, only to find that he was fallible like the worst of them. That he had fallen, in fact, when he had contributed to her conception. He wondered if she would not prefer to hate him, when that time came. No matter how much he shielded her from Gejutel's harsh practicality, the Lord knew that the clan leader had it right. His half human daughter would grow up loved – he would see to that – but she would grow up without a defined place in their world. Near-immortal like Nobles, she would be unable to survive on human attachments. Prone to attachment like humans, she would find the Noble world stiff and sometimes unforgiving.

The plain fact was, unless he arranged otherwise, Brutislava would grow up with no place to call her own little comfort. It was precisely for that reason that the Lord had decided to throw her together with Cadis Etrama di Raizel. The Noblesse had no haven either, his power and status and natural reserve kept him far too remote from Noble society. And the Lord shuddered to think of the Noblesse among humans…he would probably incite a riot everywhere he went, with that face and voice of his.

It was probably one of the worst ideas he had ever had. He could almost _hear_ Gejutel telling him so.

"Doesn't change that fact that it's going to work," he muttered, causing Brutislava to scrunch her face n confusion.

"I shall do my best to make it a successful tea party, Papa. Even if I'm too scared to pour the tea straight," she declared, the very picture of wobbly determination. "But you won't mind if I can't do it and something spills or the cake gets everywhere, will you?" This last was accompanied by anxious eyes and tiny hands tugging at the ends of his hair. It made his heart ache. None of the other Noble children around ever showed such fear of failure. Such fear of being disappointments to their parents.

He wondered if his daughter was just being human, or if she was already growing attuned to her solitary state.

"Why are you so worried, my daughter? It's just a little party, and the Noblesse is a very kind person, you know."

"Is he?" She seemed doubtful. "Uncle Tel won't _stop_ telling me about how he's the most important person ever!"

The Lord stifled the urge to drag Gejutel out of his bed and dangle him from the parapet by the ankles. Stuffing it out of sight for the moment, he pushed aside the scroll he was holding, plopped Brutislava into his lap instead and cuddled her tightly. The child smiled almost at once – like her father, she was a rather physical creature and understood touch with more clarity than words.

_It's all right even if you dump the entire tea table on the Noblesse's head,_ his arms seemed to be telling her.

"What's that, Papa?" she asked after a while, looking at the discarded scroll. The question drew an unrestrained gust of laughter from her father, his eyes growing bright with hilarity.

"Evidence, my little genius!"

The Princess frowned.

"Would you feel better about this party if I could prove to you that our dear Noblesse knows even less about what to do in social situations that you do?" He flourished the parchment before her like a matador.

"He's doesn't know how to talk to people?"

"That," the Lord snorted, "is the _least_ of it." Settling her in his arms more comfortably, he unrolled the extremely long scroll. "It seems that Cadis Etrama di Raizel has been making himself a list."

Brutislava scanned through the first three feet of the scroll in silence. "It's a list about him being stupid."

The Lord stifled a laugh, deciding not to encourage her. "Let's not go about calling him stupid, all right?" Privately, though, he agreed with her uncompromising assessment. Publicly, now…

On the other hand, he decided it would be very much worth his while to see how the Noblesse reacted to the Princess acting – verbally, at least – as brutal as her name suggested. _Since you will have to care for her once I'm gone, in any case…_

"Brutislava, my dearest daughter..."

"You don't have any other daughters, Papa…"

"Yes, yes, but still, you're the dearest, so just put up with it, will you?" He kissed her nose and she subsided. "Now, what was I saying?"

"I can't read minds, Papa…but Uncle Tel tells me you can!"

"Hang Uncle Tel. Now," he added hastily, before she could upset his flow again, "how would you feel about giving the poor Noblesse his list back, at your tea party?"

"Will he like that?" she asked, innocent of the diabolical smile on her father's face.

"He'll be so pleased, my darling, that it shall be the best tea party that's ever been held in all history."

Brutislava perked up at that.

"Oh…and it might help if you memorised it all beforehand. He might want to…discuss it."

Far away in a dark mansion, the sole occupant shivered in his bed and wondered why he suddenly felt dreadfully cold.

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><p><strong>:D I like writing the OL being a father. What do you think of his parenting skills?<strong>


	10. Girl: 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: I dared my braintwin, the inestimably evil lyrainthedark, to prompt me for any story she wanted, any theme she liked. She chose Rai, and her prompt is: **Hamlet - "Brevity is the soul of wit."

**Yup, I spot a Noblesse Ego Massacre on the horizon…it resembles a bullet train that threw away its own brakes.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

* * *

><p>Brutislava did not dump the entire tea table on the Noblesse's shining crown of hair, after all. She pleaded guilty to eating far more than her fair share of cucumber sandwiches, however. As she did not realise how badly she had embarrassed – no, humiliated would be a better choice of word – him, she could not admit to it.<p>

But those were accidents.

The one thing that she had done quite deliberately, the replacement of the sugar with salt, was also the only thing she refused to confess to. It was not so much that she was afraid of being punished for being naughty. It was just that that one act of childish pique had changed her very being and charted the course her life was to take. That made it an act of extreme importance, in her opinion. Therefore she decided to keep it secret and cherish it. It would be the secret to all her future dreams, and the reason for her disappointed hopes for a long, long time too.

But as yet, Brutislava did not know that. It was because as yet, she was still on her best behaviour and trying desperately to make Cadis Etrama di Raizel, for the love of heaven and earth and her dear Papa, _converse._

Brutislava look a hearty bite of a cucumber sandwich. "If awk eaayyee zad haad," she said around it.

Raizel – that was how she thought of him, never Stupidname Whoever Something Raizel – glanced at her mouth in distaste and then directed his attention carefully to his cup of steaming tea. Brutislava was good at taking a hit, even at her young age. She took this one with a blush and chewed her sandwich very fast so that she could get it out of the way.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Papa and Uncle Tel keep reminding me not to do that – it's bad manners, I know. Actually, absolutely everyone keeps reminding me. I promise I won't do it again till tea's over."

The Noblesse took a delicate sip. Brutislava waited for a few minutes, but no further acknowledgement was forthcoming. She tried a different tack. "That's what you were doing too, weren't you?"

He blinked. It was slow and had a deliberate quality about it; she was soon to learn that it was his equivalent of "yes." At the moment, however, she wasn't feeling too kind about it. "That was mean!" she pouted. It finally elicited a reaction – his eyes flashed up and concentrated on her. "Most people just _say_ it, really nicely. 'Princess, do remember your table manners, please!' It _sounds_ rather stern, but the _way_ they say it makes all the difference, you know! But you were just too bad about it…you didn't say anything. You just looked at me as though I were a tiny worm you'd almost squashed." Her face and voice were playfully accusing.

She noticed that the vibrant red of his irises had grown dimmer as she spoke, and also a little darker. It dawned on her that he was upset, but of what, she couldn't imagine. By all rights, _she_ ought to have been the one in a tizzy. She was the hostess of the world's most unsuccessful tea party, at the moment, and it was all _his_ fault. In Brutislava's estimation, she had been nice to him, and tried to talk to him about everything she could think of – the garden and how she loved seeing pretty things grow, what fun times she had with Uncle Tel, the bedtime stories her father told her about people he had known and things he had done, her dolls and what each one of them did and believed, her favourite food, her desire to own a puppy which for some reason her father refused to grant, the books she was reading and studying, and so on.

She had also asked him questions about himself. She was full of human curiosity and the questions had been numerous and very intrusive, though she was too young to know that. She had wanted to learn everything about this mysterious person who was loved by her father second only to herself. She wanted to know where and how he lived, how many servants he had, how much he knew about the world, if he liked animals and wanted to keep some for himself, how he kept his hair so shiny and floaty, why he spoke so little when he had such a lovely clear voice, what music he enjoyed, who his best friend was – her questions were endless torture to the silent man sitting across the dainty little table she had set up specially for him.

And now he was being huffy because she had made _one_ display of bad manners, as opposed to his…his…well, he hadn't made a single display of _good_ ones, so far. With the grave reserve that she was capable of despite being as much of an extrovert as her father, Brutislava utterly and completely lost her temper.

The result was that Cadis Etrama di Raizel had his attention forced towards a pair of turtledoves cooing in a rosebush close by, while the Princess replenished his cup with more hot tea – and a sugar bowl that was now full of salt. He promptly dumped eight spoonfuls of it into his tea – she still couldn't believe how much of a sweet tooth this man had – and took a contented sip.

His very next act was to spew it all over himself and the table, but not Brutislava, who had got out of the way well in time.

"Hah!" she cried, "try acting all high and mighty now, why don't you, you horrible creature?"

His expression changed from astonished horror to just horror. It spurred her on, tickling her amusement and her anger, making her malicious. Dipping into the bag that held her dolls, she took out a somewhat crushed roll of parchment. He recognised it at once; how could he not, after all the centuries he had spent on its contents? It was flung at him with wild energy and laughter. "Go away! And when you get home, you can add a few more things to that awful list! And forget what Papa said. I'm never playing with you again! You've ruined _everything_, you horrible, silent, stupid man!" Her voice faltered a little at the end, because she was tired and unhappy and despite the triumphant spite on her face, what she really wanted to do was curl up in her father's arms and cry about her disastrous tea party and uncooperative guest who seemed to dislike her very much.

"I beg your pardon?" The Noblesse's voice was stiff and shocked.

Brutislava realised that she had muttered the last part of her thoughts aloud. She decided to stick by them "Well, why else would you sit there and say hardly a word to me no matter what I try to talk about! You can't be such an idiot as to not know that's what people do at tea parties! I suppose you just think I'm a stupid child who talks too much and you're too clever for me! Well, I'm _not_ stupid! You just…you're just _bad-mannered and mean!_" Her gaze was clear now that she had got it off her chest, yet blurry. Her anger spent, she was finally ready to weep.

Then he was close, tilting her chin up with a slender finger, his eyes as miserable as her own, jolting something within her. "I am sorry, Princess. I am perhaps a little stupid…I do not know how to talk to people very well and therefore speak with brevity, so as not to give myself away." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "The tea was excellent. I liked the cake also. And I shall not expect to have the privilege of taking tea with you again." He gave her a slight bow and turned to leave.

"No…don't go, please. I'm sorry I was so nasty." She _was_ sorry, not over her tantrum but to see him go. It was the misery of loneliness that she had recognised in his face and prompted her next statement. "I don't have anyone else to play with. I don't particularly want to play with you again, but…I don't have anyone else, and Papa will be so disappointed that I…couldn't be friends with you. Won't you come again, if I ask?"

He did not reply.

"Please?" Valiantly, she did not cry. They stared at each other, the lonely man and the lonely girl. They did not like each other very much, but somehow knew that they were the same.

Then he blinked; it was both an agreement and a farewell.

Much later that night, after the ruined tea had been cleared away, and Brutislava had had her cry and confessed to her father about everything save the salt-and-sugar-switcheroo and consequently been banished to her room for the rest of the weekend, she smiled and hugged her secret to her heart.

She would not be able to spell it out until several more centuries had passed and she was old enough to dissect that afternoon, but it was in the moments directly following her prank that he had treated her with kindness, even agreed to be her playmate, and that had consequences.

She was a different girl now, a girl with a friend of whom she was not yet too fond.

That would change, though, for she was a girl who had fallen in love.

* * *

><p><strong>And that's how it all began. <strong>


	11. Girl: 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: This one's for you, Twin!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

* * *

><p>Really, his life these days was a series of one novelty after another. Incomprehensible – nay, downright <em>impossible<em> things were happening. Cadis Etrama di Raizel stared round the room with restrained disbelief, his mental faculties unable to process the goings-on.

There was his poofy, downy couch, his favourite in the entire mansion, currently populated by the Lord of the Nobles, who looked practically droopy, like he hadn't been watered in a week.

There was his window, the one he liked looking out of, from which he was barred by the Lord's strange daughter, who was sitting on the windowsill and banging her heels against the wall, getting mud all over the paint.

It was a veritable family enclave and he – the family-less, chronically solitary Noblesse – had been pestered into being a part of it. A most important part, he had been assured, but so far no one had allowed him to get a word in edgewise. It was a very good thing that he did not actually wish to do so, he reflected, but the Princess was grumbling and he directed his attention to her.

"You're being silly!"

The Noblesse was devoutly thankful that for once, that patent phrase was not directed towards him. Really, with the amount of books the girl read, one would think she would have a wider field of words to choose from, but she'd picked up silly at a young age and had yet to grow out of it.

He secretly suspected that she enjoyed the effect it had on a Noble's dignity. Not that her father had any at the moment – not with his head nearly touching his knees in desolate frustration. Plus, he was being yelled at by the Noble equivalent of a fifteen-year-old.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel decided that this was very entertaining. It made him feel better about the couch and the window. A slow sense of satisfaction began creeping up on him; it was almost, but not quite, serenity. A conviction, perhaps, that the world was about to balance itself again.

And then that blasted girl decided to drop the egg. The hen that laid it, included.

"Papa wants to get married. He's in _love_." She punctuated this with a merry roll of her eyes and a sophisticated shrug that belied the cast of hurt that was slowly sliding over her gaze.

The Noblesse had little difficulty processing her announcement. That the Lord would marry had been a long expectation. He had an inkling who the bride was, and he could not pretend to be displeased with the choice. Moreover, the Lord was one to wed for love – all the Nobles were. He would not wed a shrew or a woman likely to be the stepmother of nightmares.

He supposed then, correctly, that the Princess was not so much hurt as she was jealous. She would be, with her human blood ravaging her equilibrium. The books he had read once Gejutel had confessed to him that Brutislava was growing up, turning into a woman, told him in plain terms what human adolescents went through emotionally over the short years of their maturity. He had memorised the myriad things they longed for and had not been unduly worried by most. Brutislava would never lack for comfort, education, responsibility or recognition for any efforts she chose to put forth in any field of study. She had been fortunate to be sired by that type of father.

Nevertheless, Cadis Etrama di Raizel had to work very hard to stamp down the roiling mass of pity and dread that coiled and unfurled in his belly to a rhythmic beat. The Princess could have everything…save the one thing Gejutel feared she would want more than anything, the one thing the Noblesse knew the girl would lack for the rest of her life.

It was a simple thing called love. Romantic, sexual love.

She would not be good enough for any Noble because Nobles as a rule were snobs, albeit kind-hearted ones. But to introduce human blood into their exalted family trees would be unthinkable. Really, the Lord was right to worry over his daughter's future. No one this side of creation would marry her. On the other side of Lukedonia's shores…the Noblesse was not so certain. Perhaps if she met a werewolf who was more sentimental than he was beastly? They had been known to mate with humans before.

But a Noble was absolutely out of the question. No doubt the girl was starting to comprehend the extent of her isolation. The Noblesse privately counted them all lucky that so far veiled hurt was the extent of her reaction. Now if she were to do what some growing Nobles – and most growing humans – did, and throw a tantrum…

The Noblesse looked desperately at his couch and window and prayed they would survive her wrath if she did choose to explode. He really was extremely fond of them. And heaven help him if she chose to fling the couch somewhere in anger. He had heard that human females tossed about vases and assorted household items on occasion when infuriated. No doubt the Princess, with her superhuman strength, would choose superhuman missiles. And _then_ what would a poor Noblesse do, save swallow his pride and the loss of his dearest possessions?

And all because he understood only too well the near-crippling unhappiness and frustration that loneliness would bring.

Had he not spent his life the same way? Had he not spent night after night during his boyhood, waking flushed and hot and trembling with unnamed and misunderstood desires that he had no way of sating? Had he not, in desperation born of lust, once committed to memory every piece of lascivious trollop he could lay his hands on? Had he not, in the depths of darkness, with only the stars outside his window, resorted to touching himself, exploring and delighting in the exploration, just for a few moments of _relief?_

That had not lasted long. The first time had been mindless and rushed, almost furtive. For some reason, he had felt as though he were committing a crime. He had restrained himself as long as he could, then done it again, and this time he'd done it properly. He had taken time to know his own body, to learn the texture of his testicles and how the veins on his penis interrupted the smoothness of the rigid skin. He had learnt to distinguish the discomfort of the slight growth of hair around his member and thereafter taken the time to remove it during his daily bath.

Masturbation had been a great deal pleasanter after that, when he could discern his own length and girth. He had not been circumcised. None of the Nobles were, most likely. They did not look kindly upon chopping off body parts for aesthetic reasons. He was glad, because he had discovered how soft and distractingly sensitive his foreskin was. For long minutes, he used to lie back and trail his fingertips beneath it, brushing teasingly and assimilating the pleasure different degrees of touch produced. He had learned, most of all, to appreciate the pleasure before the orgasm, and then the slow exhaustion afterwards. He had not liked the mess that orgasm produced, truth be told, but that was his natural fastidiousness speaking. It hardly took a few minutes to clean up.

And then, gradually, he had stopped. There was no special reason behind it, just plain old boredom. His own touch had jaded him at first, then turned him more alone. He could not, after all, curl around himself and pet his own hair and kiss himself once the deed was done, could he? And he very much wanted to do those things, and have them done to him, much more than he valued the pleasure itself.

Yes, he could feel sorry for the poor Princess. It did not take much hardship to feel that way for her, poor soul. Women needed the touching and holding and – he deigned to mention the word in thought – cuddling – far more than men did, even needy men like him. In her place, any other person would have lashed out by now, at the thought that her father could find a companion with ease whereas she was doomed to be by herself.

But she'd do her duty. It was understood. She might not like it very much, this easy finding of love by people whose species would never love _her_ romantically, but she liked the idea of having a family, judging by the spike in her emotions when children were mentioned. The stipulation that whatever child the Lord bore would be true heir to Lukedonia and the world did not seem to bother her. Cadis Etrama di Raizel had not expected that it would. She had known since she developed cognitive powers that she was not the heir, though she was the Princess. He suspected she was happy about that; she wasn't much of a one for stuffy paperwork and hefty decision-making.

Therefore the Lord, it was duly decided, would be married.

* * *

><p><strong>I hear baby feet coming up. Do you? :3<strong>


	12. Girl: 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: Apologies for the long wait, everyone! I'll try and be more regular in the future.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You are not celebrating at the palace?"<p>

Brutislava uncurled her body enough to allow herself to turn and glance at the Noblesse without developing a serious crick in her neck. "I distinctly recall putting your name on the guest list," she accused.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel bowed his head, but did not speak. The Princess eyed him thoughtfully, drawing several implications from his silence.

"Do you not like weddings in general…or are you just afraid of my father being a royal embarrassment?"

He raised an eyebrow in response. Brutislava shrugged, allowing a brief grin to flash across her lips. "Pun intended."

"Hm."

She tilted her head, waiting for more.

"It was not a very good pun," the Noblesse judged.

"I am not in a very good mood," the Princess retorted.

"So I see."

Inwardly, they both thought, _this conversation is going nowhere._ Silence overtook them; Brutislava resumed glaring out of the window, while Raizel took to memorising the pattern of lace at his cuffs. He would have liked to look out of the window himself, but he did not know if the girl would welcome his company.

It dawned on him that the girl's feelings about this invasion of her privacy should be at the bottom of his anxiety-list. "But you are trespassing," he voiced.

She caught the slight emphasis on _you_. It made her want to laugh; he was always so studiously restrained. She knew what he wanted – he wanted her to please get out of his house, and stop coming there and hiding in corners unless he issued specific invitations to her to do so – but she had secretly determined to do nothing of the sort till he got fed-up enough to tell her to get out in plain English. So far, it had been close to a half-millennium, but Raizel had yet to lose his patience. She found that she was mildly disappointed.

It was like an unspoken game between them. Brutislava would do her utmost to upset the Noblesse's composure, and the Noblesse would retaliate by being infuriatingly tolerant.

Peace settled on the pair once again, each preoccupied with the Lord's wedding – and its consummation. "I wonder if it'll be a male," Brutislava mused.

"Which would you prefer?"

"A sister," the Princess answered at once. She had clearly given much thought to the question. "A sister would be nice…small and pretty and perhaps she'll look like Papa."

"You would not like it if she resembled her mother?" the Noblesse asked, his voice carrying a sharp undertone. If the Princess was unhappy with the new Lady, the marriage would not be permitted to continue. He would take care of the matter personally, and never mind that he hadn't the least authority to dictate to anyone on affairs of the heart.

"Lady Bernadetta is a good woman." The words were glib, as though she had rehearsed them several times in anticipation of this question.

"Princess."

Brutislava jerked around in surprise. He had never used this particular tone on her before, indeed, she had not known he even possessed it. The Noblesse was not speaking to her any longer; he was commanding, and he would be satisfied with nothing less than the whole truth of her feelings. She appreciated the concern, but she was still young and at the antagonistic stage of maturity. She rebelled at the notion of being told what to do, at being answerable to anyone.

"Read my mind, why don't you!" she fairly snapped at him, lips pressed together mutinously.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel sighed at her expression. _These juveniles!_ He wasn't used to having his demands challenged, least of all by an adolescent chit of a girl. To top things off, the Princess's teenage years were lasting longer than most Nobles'. It could be put down to her father's exceptional power, but damn all if it wasn't extremely tiresome to deal with! Nobles, when they were still maturing, tended to throw the occasional fit, but the Princess _was_ a perpetual walking fit. If she wasn't brooding about things she refused to talk about, she was sulking. If she wasn't sulking, she was sniping at people. If she wasn't being snippy, she was poking her nose into this and that and claiming it to be the grown-up thing to do. And above all, she was forever demanding to be left alone in tones that implied the other party's intelligence to be somewhere at the level of a goldfish's.

The Noblesse debated the productivity of telling her to be reasonable and answer him directly, and decided it wasn't worth it. Not when she had issued such a beautifully direct invitation into her head.

It took him all of fifteen seconds to gather the essentials. "Envy, loneliness, insecurity over your father's attention being diverted away from you, dread over-" He was cut off by the slamming of an invisible door. Her mental barriers were up, this was something she clearly did not want anyone to see.

Which meant, the Noblesse deduced, that this was the true crux of her issues. _It must be something so petty as to be humiliating_, _or else it weighs heavily on her future._ He settled on the latter. The Princess was given to dramatics, but not maliciously. And heaven knew that the future loomed terrifying over her head this night – whatever the Lord spawned, it would be the heir to the throne of the Nobles. What, then, would happen to the erstwhile Princess? His mind was working at a furious pace, assimilating everything he knew of the girl.

The question was, why was she being so reticent? Brutislava could grumble the proverbial fishwife into mute horror if she liked, and the most frequent reason for her visits to his mansion was to do just that. He suspected it was because he was the only creature alive who was polite enough to sit and listen from beginning to end – the offer of friendship after that disastrous tea party had clearly been a big mistake on his part. She'd taken it _seriously_. In any case, he now knew her well enough to be sure that if she had uncertainties, she would not be so silent.

_Quad erat demonstrandum, the Princess knows the exact nature of her fate once the Lord has begotten a true heir. _

Cadis Etrama di Raizel scrutinized his somewhat unwelcome guest carefully. He took in the slight wobble of her lips, the dullness in her eyes, and the way she held herself close, as though she wanted to curl in on herself and hide. He felt a rush of pity, then one of sharp anger.

_Just what have you planned for your daughter, Lord?_

* * *

><p><strong>Doom.<br>**

**Revoo, pleasie? *kitty eyes*  
><strong>


	13. Girl: 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: This story really makes me feel like I have the potential for true dastardliness. **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

* * *

><p>Cadis Etrama di Raizel decided to be polite and allow the Lord a brief honeymoon before he poked his nose into the royal household's affairs.<p>

Three days, he judged, were quite enough, and barged into the palace heedless of the newly wedded couple's privacy. Fortunately for his dignity, the Princess was far more circumspect.

"You can't go in there!" Brutislava hissed, wondering what on earth had got into the usually serene Noblesse.

Said Noblesse cast an approximation of a glare towards the Lord's bedroom, the door to which was firmly shut. Then he turned his gaze to his pet Headache, as he though of the Princess in private. She caught the unspoken question and flushed a most unattractive shade of beetroot. One did not simply inform the Noblesse – the pristine, almost sterile Noblesse – that one's father was currently engaged in having sex with one's new stepmother, and would not appreciate being disturbed.

The trouble was, she through frantically, she didn't know what else to tell him, and he looked mulish enough to wait there till kingdom come. "You just cannot!" They could do this for weeks, a dim, desperate corner of her realised. And by then she would expire of boredom, because Raizel was so inured to it that he probably thought counting the number of "You can't!s" she cranked out over the next…whatever, would be fun.

_Ass, _she thought, but with a fond slant and a secret smile.

That smile had the Noblesse backing up faster than one could say "Bray." He didn't trust that look on her face at all. Come to that, he didn't trust anything about the girl. She was even more unlike Nobles than her father, and that was saying something. He sighed. Who knew half-humans were this troublesome? He certainly had not.

He was aware that none of the erstwhile clan leaders understood why he cared for the girl. He did not blame them for such thoughts, because he was infamous for caring only about humanity – and occasionally the Lord. Cadis Etrama di Raizel felt it was rather dense of the clan leaders. The answer lay right there – how hard could it be to put two and two together? Brutislava belonged to both humanity and the Lord, and thus secured a place in his otherwise taciturn set of feelings.

Even if she was the most impossible little brat he'd ever had the displeasure of butting heads with.

The Noblesse reminded himself that he was thousands of years older than Princess Headache, and settled in for the biggest Can-Can't battle of his life. He was forced to admit defeat in exactly three minutes and twenty four seconds when the Princess lost her patience and hauled him off to places unknown. He told himself it didn't matter. After all, it has been his first such battle. And he had fought it well, he felt. He had not opened his mouth to utter "I can!" even once.

He wondered if Brutislava knew how silly she had looked, spouting a stream of "You cannot!"s to a poker-faced man who said not a word in response. Unfortunately, he was deprived of the pleasure of telling her so, because he was preoccupied with resisting the urge to scrub his eyes raw.

"What…is this?"

Brutislava didn't notice the inflection of dazed horror in her companion's voice. "Blooming, isn't it?" she chirped. "What do you think?"

Blooming would be accurate, Cadis Etrama di Raizel thought. There was little else that could be said of the garden's aesthetics. Put simply, there were none. But Brutislava was evidently fond of it, despite the riotous mess of wildflowers and vines and too-large trees stuffed within the walls.

While he was casting about for something nice to say, Brutislava dragged up a pair of stools and a table from a recess in the walls. They sat across form each other and lapsed into a comfortable silence. The Noblesse was preoccupied with trying to assimilate the utter chaos of flora that was Brutislava's idea of a pretty garden. He did not realise that the girl was watching him with frank amusement, as though she could guess the nature of his thoughts.

"It's too messy for you, isn't it?"

He eyed her askance.

Brutislava laughed gaily, knowing that the poor man was wondering if there was a polite way to phrase himself. "Go on, you can admit it. I won't mind! Everyone here thinks this place is a disgrace."

Now, he wouldn't call it _that._ The walled garden was overpopulated, true, but in some way reflected the nature of the person who tended it. It did not suit the average Noble, Cadis Etrama di Raizel realised, but it suited Brutislava. One had to make allowances for the human half of her, and he would much rather she chose to raise a garden than go cavorting with the village boys.

Now that was a slightly disturbing thought. _But she's getting to that age. _He gave an internal shrug. He trusted Brutislava to have enough sense to pick a Noble, if she wished to form an attachment to anyone. After all, she was her own biggest reminder of the follies of mixing romantically with humans. And then something inside him cringed at the thought of her as a folly.

"You are not," he murmured, then snapped his lips shut before he could complete the sentence aloud. Brutislava had not noticed, he was grateful to see. She was eyeing a stray rosebush in disgust and amazement, as if she could not fathom how it had got there. He recalled then that the Princess disliked roses above all flowers. He had never got around to asking her why. They looked all right to him…

"That thing must be removed," she announced, then turned to him. "Same goes for your nose."

Cadis Etrama di Raizel blinked.

"You're poking it into my business," she explained with an airy wave of her hand.

He did not deem that worthy of a reply. Good thing, really. Because he actually had no idea why he was bothering.

_She's your friend,_ his conscience prodded helpfully. Nasty, meddlesome thing, his conscience. Then he wondered if that was how Brutislava thought of _him_. He decided it didn't matter either way. The girl was clearly unhappy with whatever her father had dictated.

She needed a champion, courtly as that sounded.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel was quite willing to be said champion, as moronic as _that_ sounded, and he usually didn't think he was a complete moron. The opposite, really.

He lifted his shoulders slightly in a sigh. _Princess Headache, indeed!_

"But you're going to go ahead and poke it right in, anyway," the Princess intoned dolefully, obviously having interpreted his lack of response as obstinacy.

She was partly right, so he just slanted another of his sideways looks at her. She groaned, letting her head fall into her arms.

"Just give them a few months before you go butting into the honeymoon, would you…"

* * *

><p><strong>Impending doom? But for whom, exactly… :3<strong>


	14. Girl: 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine. **

**A/N: This is for my Twin, for not dying. ::squishes her flat:: And for you all too, for still reading this. ::squishes everyone::**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I hear you've been trying to talk to me."<p>

Cadis Etrama di Raizel gave the Lord a stiff nod. "The Princess informed me that you were busy," he said delicately, and blushed at the implications.

The Lord, however, showed no such grace. Plastering an indecently cheery grin on his face, he said, "The joys of married life are many, indeed. Someday, you'll know what I'm talking about."

Cadis Etrama di Raizel blushed harder and started at his teacup till the Lord got the hint.

He did not. In fact, he took his guest's extreme and pointed silence to mean curiosity as to the nature of this 'married life.' Never one to disappoint his guests, and especially not _this_ guest, the Lord obligingly began unloading intimate details of his recent joys on the overwhelmed Noblesse. The details being of prodigious variety and exactness, Cadis Etrama di Raizel was very nearly a mental wreck by the time Bernadetta, Lady of the Nobles, emerged on the scene.

She announced her arrival by flinging a book smack into the Lord's nose. Miraculously, it survived the impact. The book, on the other hand, wasn't that lucky.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel surveyed its dented remains with grim satisfaction. He had always had a theory pertaining to the thickness of the Lord's head. Now here it was, proven beyond doubt.

"I am not the village barmaid," said the Lady, flinging herself into a spare armchair with lazy grace. "And he" – she indicated the Noblesse – "is not my sister."

"He doesn't mind!" the Lord protested.

Bernadetta stared at the Noblesse's stiff shoulders and flaming face, then raised an eyebrow at her husband, who got the hint this time, making Cadis Etrama di Raizel wonder if there was something wrong with his hinting style. At any rate, the Lord didn't look like he was going to make introductions any time soon, so the Noblesse pulled out a nod of acknowledgement from his recently learned repository of polite body language – Brutislava had been training him well – and studied the Lady from under long eyelashes.

What he saw filled him with dismay for the Princess. When he had heard that the new Lady was Verdana's sister, he had been filled with optimism for the future. Verdana – flighty and voluptuous in her tastes, but with a heart that overflowed with affection – how could Verdana have such a stately, imperious sibling? He delved into her soul, eager to be proven wrong, but the Lady Bernadetta was the perfect Noble in and out.

Oh she would be kind, and dispense her duties to her husband's first daughter very conscientiously. She would even, out of loyalty to her husband, strive to feel some affection for the girl.

But she would never love Brutislava. In her eyes, as in the eyes of every Noble, things had their proper places. Brutislava would always, to this woman, have a _place_. Family, but just outside the intimate family circle. Important, but essentially useless. And when she conceived a child, the future Lord of the Nobles, what could Brutislava be but a glorified advisor to it? Speaking, but never receiving the attention commanded by people such as Gejutel K. Landegre and Ragar Kertia. Not because she was incompetent. The Noblesse was certain that the Princess, despite her oddities, had inherited her father's excellent brains. He knew, from her own mouth, that she was being educated accordingly. But what she lacked in aloofness and hauteur would be her undoing. He could see the future envisioned by Lady Bernadetta, who loved the Lord but would ensure that her children would grow up to be as unlike him in demeanour as possible. Which self-respecting _traditional_ Lord would countenance an illegitimate halfling dishing out common sense?

No wonder Brutislava had taken to practically living at his mansion these days! Cadis Etrama di Raizel frowned and made a mental reminder to have Gejutel send over a good supply of the girl's favourite desserts and sandwiches. Brutislava tended to get hungry when she was depressed, as the Noblesse and his rapidly depleting larder were coming to learn.

But the point of this visit, he reminded himself, was not to secure an indefinite supply of food for his unwanted houseguest. It was to get rid of her – or at least return her to 'visitor' status from her current 'occupier of unlikely corners at unexpected hours.' His privacy had been shattered by the Princess, which did not sit well with him. Privacy was one of the few requirements of Noblesse-dom that he insisted on and expected to be met.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel decided to bring the conversation back to its beginning. "I am here to ask about your plans for the Princess." As an afterthought, he added, "I wish to be alone with you while receiving your answer."

The Lord refrained from raising an eyebrow at such high-handedness. The Lady was not so circumspect in usual circumstances, but when the Noblesse demanded a request, one tended to grant him his desire without question. She got up without another word and left the two men alone.

"Now that you've kicked my new wife out…," remarked the Lord, but the Noblesse turned a coolly unrepentant face to him. The Lord sighed and rested his chin on his knuckles. "Why is this eating at you so much? I'm aware that you've done a marvellous job of tolerating my daughter, but it's unlike you to be such a worrywart."

The Noblesse did not answer him. He was here to interrogate, not converse. The Lord's eyebrows scrunched together in a frown at the lack of response. "If it's obligation – if you feel you are obligated to stand for my girl-"

"I am obligated," the Noblesse agreed flatly. "I consider it necessary."

"Why?"

Cadis Etrama di Raizel did not answer that either, but the Lord was not so willing to let it go. "She's my daughter, Cadis Etrama di Raizel. Even if you are the Noblesse, over my daughter I take precedence. I must know."

The Noblesse's eyes flashed scarlet for an instant as he met the Lord's eyes. His voice was flinty as he iterated, "What are you planning for Brutislava?"

The Lord was powerful, but the flashing gaze carried behind it the weight of generations, the history of the world as they knew it, and a presence so ancient that its age was unfathomable. He wondered whether Cadis Etrama di Raizel himself knew how old he was, or who had come before him, if there even had been someone before – before this creature, but he did not dare to ask. The emotions radiating from those eyes were not those of a man who made it a habit to concern himself with individuals, or who even felt his own individuality. They were weighty with judgement and the desire – for something, a kind of balance, perhaps – the Lord could not be sure what it was exactly that lay coiled behind the Noblesse's discontentment, but one thing was clear to him. He would not remain unscathed if he did not cease asserting his authority to this creature who was his equal, but whose life had placed him above everything save justice.

The realisation of this pleased him immensely, even as it told him that he was about to lose a very large measure of the Noblesse's regard. _In about two minutes you will be as distant from me as you are from the rest of our frozen race._ _But I am happy; it is the price I must pay to achieve my ends. And they are worthy ends, my friend. Someday, you will know and smile over them. _

"Lord."

The single word was laced with sharp command. The Lord pasted a flippant smile on his lips. "Ah, yes. Forgive me, it surprised me that you do not already know. I thought she would have told you. Brutislava has agreed to act as advisor to my future child – when there is one." He paused to slide his fingers through a shining lock of blonde hair. "I see that the news isn't unexpected to you. But you must've guessed; after all, there aren't many things she can do. Others won't be as forgiving of her human blood as we are. Advisor is just right – she will stay here, by her family, and be provided for always. She will go into training for it soon."

The Noblesse digested all this quietly. So the worst would come to pass. He wasn't fooled by the rosy picture painted by the Lord. The future would never be so kind to the Princess, something her father would probably not grasp because he viewed everything far too optimistically. For the first time since he had met the Lord, Cadis Etrama di Raizel felt that this was more of a fault than a virtue. It had to be, if the man couldn't even see that his grand plans would eventually reduce his firstborn to an upper servant in the family hierarchy.

Of course, the Noblesse never doubted the Lord's intentions. He just didn't trust the new Lady, with her kind but unyielding soul. His eyes wandered back to the Lord's, taking in the wholesome faith in the goodness of his plans, and in that moment, the future was born.

The Princess – he would devote his life to watching over her, to thwarting the Lord's intentions, to creating a home for the ill-fitting girl if it became necessary to do so – and it would be necessary. He was an outsider himself, he knew how these things happened. Somewhere in the cogs of his brain, Brutislava had just been upgraded from 'unwanted houseguest' to 'mine.'

As he left, the Lord sighed and slumped back against the banquet of his chair. "That went better than expected," he murmured to himself. He was aware that in Cadis Etrama di Raizel's eyes, he would forever be a blithe fool.

But he didn't care.

_From this day on, my dear Noblesse, you belong to my daughter._

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, because the mark of a good daddy is that he will not hesitate to manipulate a hapless ancient powerhouse into becoming his future son-in-law. <strong>

**Review, review?**


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